AFTER THE NORTHER.
It was the piercing cold, the shrieking of the wind and the roaring of
the waters rather than the storm itself that bewildered the castaways
when the tent was blown away as if it had been only a bit of paper.
No one appeared to be capable of even trying to devise some means by
which they might be sheltered from the pitiless wind, but all crouched
helplessly amid the heavy packages, which served in some slight degree
to protect them from the icy blast.
Impossible as it was to distinguish any objects save those close at
hand, unable to converse with each other because of the raging of the
elements, which would have drowned even the booming of cannon, fearing
lest the gale should increase in force until they themselves were
blown from the low-lying island, and at times nearly suffocated by the
whirling sand which enveloped them as with a cloud of smoke, the little
party felt to the full their desolate condition.
It was a situation not equaled in agony of suspense by the night on the
drifting wreck, for then it was possible to speak cheering words and to
look into each other’s face with the knowledge that if death claimed
more victims all would perish together--not that one might be left to
struggle and finally yield while alone.
Each moment of the hours that passed until the dawn came again was
filled with misery for the wretched ones who crouched amid the ruins of
their temporary home, and the seconds went so slowly that it could well
be fancied the night would never end, but pass with all its horrors
into eternity.
When the sun did finally come up from out his bath in the sea to still
the winds, he looked upon a scene of destruction which had entirely
changed the appearance of the little island. The trees, with but two
exceptions, were broken or uprooted; the sand had been furrowed here
in long ridges, or piled there in mounds, until where once had been
a level surface was now a succession of tiny hills and valleys, and
around all was a sparkling, leaping band of milky white as the waves
churned themselves into foam against the coral shore.
Where had lain the wreck of the Simoon was a long line of crested
waves, which towered upward as if in glee at having swept away the
last vestige of the handiwork man had pitted against their strength.
The raft upon which so much labor had been bestowed had also vanished,
leaving no trace behind, save here and there a plank or timber thrown
high up on the beach. Of the stores taken from the brig but little
remained uninjured; some were partially buried in the sand, others
ruined by the moisture, and not a few literally blown away. The
water-breaker and about a dozen cans of beef were intact, but the
soup and turtle eggs were no longer eatable. The storm had left the
castaways hardly more than provisions enough to suffice for three days’
consumption.
The cat was numbered among the sudden disappearances of the night.
Gertie’s first thought, when the sun dispelled the darkness, was of her
pet, but she was nowhere to be found. She was in the tent when the
wind carried the canvas away, but from that time no one had seen or
heard of her; and, strange as it may seem, when they had lost all that
was valuable to them, the castaways were more troubled about her than
they were by the breaking up of their base of supplies.
“She nebber was no mortal cat,” old Chloe said positively, and with
just a suspicion of fear in her voice. “I knowed that when she fust
came, an’ now I’se sure she’s a voodou what brought de storm wid her.”
“More likely she got blown overboard,” Jake replied impatiently. “There
was one spell I thought we’d all go, an’ that’s when she went.”
Gertie looked seriously troubled. The cat had come to her as if for
protection, and at the same time cleared up what was a very painful
mystery, therefore the child felt as if she had neglected that which
should have been an especial duty by not thinking first of the animal
when the storm burst.
“It’s no use to stand here fussin’ when we’ve got so many other things
to trouble us,” Jake said after he had searched unsuccessfully for the
missing pet. “We must look out for ourselves pretty sharp now, or we’ll
soon be nearer starved than the cat was. Ben, you an’ me will try and
get our tent back, an’ if aunty an’ Gertie want to do anything, they
can hunt for the provisions that have been buried in the sand.”
Old Chloe did not make any move toward carrying out this suggestion.
Her superstitious fears had returned with the supposed discovery that
the cat was a voodou in disguise, and she was not willing to be left
alone with only Gertie as a protector, therefore all four went in
search of the missing tent.
This portion of their work was quickly done. The top-gallant sail was
found about one hundred yards from the site of the camp, so firmly
wound around the roots of an overturned tree that considerable labor
was necessary before it could be removed. It was soon stretched again
between the two remaining mangroves, this time lashed so securely that
its supports would be torn away before it could be loosened, and hardly
was it in place when old Chloe uttered a piercing shriek as she sunk in
an undignified and decidedly ungraceful attitude on the sand, covering
her black face with her yet blacker hands.
“What’s come over that nigger now?” Jake cried angrily, and as he
turned to learn the cause of the old woman’s sudden collapse he saw the
cat running at full speed toward Gertie.
The ex-cook of the Sea Queen had convinced himself by actual contact
that the animal was not unearthly, and he could well afford to laugh
as heartily as did Gertie and Ben at the negress’ fright, which was as
genuine as it was prolonged.
Unquestionably the cat had a hiding place where she knew she would be
safe in a storm, and fled to it during the first wild burst of the
tempest, but did not dare to return until the erection of the tent
showed that her new-found friends were still there.
Gertie took the little creature in her arms, caressing it fondly
to atone for past neglect, and by degrees old Chloe recovered her
equanimity; but even when her fright had subsided she would neither
touch nor look at the cat, which she still insisted was something more
than an ordinary animal.
“I’se heerd ob dem tings, an’ I’se knowed cullered pussons what hab
done bin killed by ’em,” she replied when Gertie insisted that there
was nothing to be feared from this dumb castaway. “Don’ bring her nigh
me, chile; don’t do it, kase I’se los’ de rabbit-foot what Mose gin me.”
“You don’t need any rabbit’s-foot to pertect you agin a half-starved
cat,” Jake said with such a hearty burst of laughter that a stranger
would never have suspected he had been frightened out of nearly every
one of his seven senses by the same harmless animal.
After the excitement caused by the return of Gertie’s pet subsided, and
the old woman had so far become reconciled to the supposed “voodou” as
to be willing to remain in the same tent with it, Jake proposed that
they all go to the beach in search of wreckage.
“Something useful may come ashore,” he said, “an’ we’re cut down to
sich short allowance now that we’ve got to run across a few eatables,
or stand a good chance of starvin’ to death.”
Any kind of work was better than remaining at the tent where everything
reminded them of this third disaster, and they set out at once, old
Chloe leading the way with wonderful agility that she might keep at a
respectful distance from the alleged supernatural cat.
Although the storm had cleared away, the wind was blowing very strong
from the west, and the sea towered up as high and menacing as in the
early morning. The undertow was yet too powerful to admit of anything
being washed ashore, and the little party searched over the entire
northern side of the island without finding more than a broken plank or
shattered cask.
“Some of the stuff will be sure to come up by mornin’, an’ if you and
me, Ben, keep a sharp watch to-night I reckon it’ll more’n pay for
the trouble. We needn’t expect even the smallest kind of a turtlin’
schooner till after the sea gets quieted down a little, an’ the best
thing we can do now is to fix up our camp so’s it’ll look sorter
homelike.”
As Jake spoke he turned toward the tent once more, and old Chloe begun
to cast nervous glances at the cat which Gertie held tightly clasped
in her arms, but made no protest at going where she would necessarily
be near the innocent cause of her fear until when the girl would have
remained close by her side.
“I’se done gwine ter walk ’lone, chile. You an’ Ben kin go off wid
yerselves, kase I’se got no call for ter stay ’roun dat wuffless cat.”
“I do believe you’re afraid of her yet,” Ben cried merrily as he
stroked the little animal who was purring a loud song of perfect
content in her young mistress’ arms.
Chloe did not deign to reply, but loitered behind the others until they
were so far in advance that she could make good her escape in case the
“voodou” should take upon itself some different and more terrifying
form than that of a cat.
So far as her peace of mind was concerned, perhaps it was well she
lingered, for when the other three entered the tent Gertie put her pet
down for a moment in order to aid Jake and Ben in tightening some of
the ropes which held the canvas in place, and on looking for the cat an
instant later failed to find any traces of her.
All were decidedly alarmed now. It was positive the dumb castaway
had not left the tent, for there was but one opening--directly in
front--just outside of which they had been standing.
Jake peered cautiously under the canvas when he heard Gertie’s low cry
of surprise and alarm, and then he looked timidly around the key, as he
said in a hoarse whisper to Ben, wiping the big drops of perspiration
from his forehead:
“There’s no use talkin’, old Chloe come pretty nigh bein’ right when
she said the thing was a voodou. There ain’t any question ’bout it now,
an’ I thought all along that we was laughin’ too quick, but I didn’t
wanter scare you children.”
By this time Gertie had come out of the tent and stood looking at her
companions, who remained motionless, as if fear had suddenly changed
them into statues.
“There is some place around here where she hides, and we must find
it or Aunt Chloe will have another spell,” she said, speaking to Ben
rather than Jake. “You are not so foolish as to think there can be
anything unnatural about her?”
“No,” Ben said with an effort; “we’ll hunt over every inch of the key,
an’ perhaps we can find the hole, for she must have one somewhere.”
“If you take my advice you’ll both stay right here with me,” Jake said
solemnly. “Tim Jinks, my old shipmate, knowed of a cat that could
change----”
Gertie had no idea of waiting to hear the conclusion of what was
probably some blood-curdling tale; the name of Tim Jinks was
sufficient guarantee that a particularly horrible ghost story was to
be related, and before Jake could get further on in it than this brief
introduction, she led Ben inside the tent.
The cook looked furtively around when he was left alone, as if
questioning whether companionship would not be preferable, even if he
was forced to face the unknown danger, to remaining alone; but a single
thought of the cat Tim Jinks had known was enough to send him away very
rapidly from that undesirable locality.
Old Chloe had seated herself on a little hillock of sand, midway
between the beach and the trees, where she could have timely warning
in case any horrible thing approached, and Jake bent his steps in that
direction.
He was on the point of explaining why the children remained behind,
taking no heed of the spasm into which the old woman would most
assuredly be thrown, when a loud cry from Ben caused him to turn once
more in alarm.
“Come here, Jake, an’ be quick about it! The cat has been hidin’ in
a hole at the foot of one of the trees, an’ there’s a box in it that
looks like a little trunk! If you’ll help me we’ll soon dig it out.”